Sticky Fingers
by TuesdayNovember
Summary: Drabble. Written for the 'emotions' challenge on xoxLewrahxox's forum. The Dark Lord thinks Bellatrix needs some help with her Cruciatus. Mature content.


**For Lady Eleanor Boleyn's 'emotions' prompt on xoxLewrahxox's forum.**

**Prompt: write a drabble with a word count of an exact multiple of 100, dealing with a HP character (or characters) and one or more of the ****primary emotions: Fear, Anger, Joy and Sadness.** You can write about one character and how they make others feel one of these emotions

**This is joy.**

**Exactly 800 words.**

* * *

The Dark Lord looks down the room at the group assembled there, clad in black, eyes respectfully averted. The last vestiges of his great good looks are fading with each passing day, and he knows that some of the men think themselves better than him for their own. He knows that yet others are disgusted with the change, and avoid looking at him whenever they can.

The meeting over, he dismisses them. Out of respect, they move into the antechamber before disapparating away. Bellatrix Lestrange rises slowly from the table. She is always the last to leave. The Dark Lord doesn't speak until she is halfway to the door.

"Bellatrix."

She turns towards him, and he can see the eager devotion, the complete rapture in her eyes. "Yes, my Lord?" she whispers reverently.

If he has any feelings about her veneration, he doesn't show them. "It's come to my attention that your Cruciatus is weak. While I know that you've had no formal training, I will not accept that as an excuse for your poor performance."

Bellatrix looks as if she's ready to fall to her knees, "Please, my Lord, I'll practice, I'll do absolutely anything. I promise, I _swear_, I'll be better! _Please_, my Lord! I –"

"Enough." He says, and she falls silent immediately. "What you need," he continues, "is a teacher. Come here."

She approaches as quickly as she can without seeming disrespectful. "Anything, my Lord. I'll do absolutely anything you wish."

A flicker of amusement passes over his face, but Bellatrix doesn't see it. "Good. Then I suggest you take out your wand. You can't learn without it."

Bellatrix's eyes widen. "My Lord?" She breathes.

"Do as I say."

She obeys immediately.

"You know the movement, I presume?" He asks.

She nods, "Yes, my Lord."

"Good. Show me."

She moves her wand silently, hands shaking.

"Again."

She repeats it, and continues to repeat it until he finally says, "That's enough. Sit down."

She hastens to do so, seating herself to the right of his chair, watching him. He walks across the room and stops behind her. For a moment, Bellatrix forgets how to breathe.

"We're done for today." He says, and Bellatrix is blindly horrified. Perhaps she's done something wrong – he won't teach her anymore, he's done with her, he's going to send her away, he thinks she's –

"I'll contact you tomorrow." He says. "There's still much to do."

Bellatrix remembers how to breathe, and as she lets out the breath she didn't know she was holding, she nods. "Yes, my Lord. Of course."

"Good." He says, and steps away from her chair to allow her to rise.

She gets up and turns to him, gaze averted in deferential respect. Her heart is pounding so loudly she thinks it might burst, and she feels a knot of mixed terror and joy clenching her stomach. But she pushes them down and says, as firmly as she can – which is shockingly weak, "Thank you, my Lord."

She knows better than to be disheartened by the fact that he doesn't respond, but she can't help but feel a twang of sadness.

She tucks her chair in slowly to prolong the time she has with him. As she turns to leave the room, she hears his voice, gentle and mocking.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

She turns to face him, and to her horror sees that he's holding her wand in his hand.

Cheeks aflame with embarrassment, she moves towards him. "I'm sorry, my Lord," she mumbles. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

He hands her wand back to her, and for the briefest of moments, their hands touch. The flame in her cheeks moves downwards as she tries desperately to suppress her sudden, incredible happiness.

"Thank you, my Lord," she says, hoping her voice doesn't waver.

He gives a brief nod, and she leaves the room, trying to tamp down the mad smile that threatens to break free. Breathing heavily and thoroughly distracted, she waits a moment before disapparating.

When she reappears at Lestrange Manor, she no longer tries to hide her smile. She lets it burst free, happily, crazily. Her grin is wide enough to split her face in two. She doesn't bother to look for her husband, as she usually would. Instead, still smiling, she bounds up the stairs eagerly and throws open the door to her room. She doesn't think Rodolphus would bother her here, but she locks the door anyway, and casts a silencing charm.

Nearly overflowing with happiness, she drops her robes to the floor and settles herself atop her bed. With deft fingers, she capitalizes on her happiness, and feels it surge tenfold.

She shrieks, and when she falls back onto her pillows she sighs happily, and uses her wand to clean her sticky fingers, still smiling.

* * *

**How was that? Please do tell me! **


End file.
